Thanksgiving has typically meant hosting the In-Laws. Meant
watching my wife prepare a meal fit for King and afternoon football. In the
past 10 plus years, Thanksgiving has been a breath of fresh air after a
whirlwind Fall football and hunting season. This was no “typical” Thanksgiving.
With my class, I approached this week like I had done so
many times before. Thanksgiving is a good time for self-reflection and easily
translates to writing assignments that any kid can tackle. We sprinkled in a
few Holiday fun activities and all looked forward to some time away. Thursday
couldn’t come quick enough.
On Thanksgiving the entire village of Kivalina gathered for
a Community dinner. This year, as I would suspect as in most years, it was held
in the school gymnasium. It’s a potluck of sorts but truly a celebration of
togetherness and shared native food. It looks like good old-fashioned
fellowship like you might see in your Church basement or at a large family
gathering but this one had a few special twists.
First off, I was told to bring your own utensils. Bowls,
silverware and a knife sharp enough to do some serious cutting. I forgot about
the knife but was taken care of by the father of one of my students, Repogle
Swan. My tableware was nothing compared to the layouts that most families came
with. There were complete boxes filled with paper towels, tobacco sauce,
drinks, plates and bowls – it looked like the good stuff you only bring out on
Thanksgiving. Another hint was to get there early if you wanted a spot at a
table, otherwise you’d end up sitting in the bleachers in the overflow section.
I was glad I followed that advice. There were a lot of folks there.
It started as most social events do - introductions and
small talk amongst the tables. A few minutes of mingling while the children ran
around and played. But things kicked off rather swiftly with a welcoming
message from Elder Austin Swan followed by a blessing by his son, Gary Swan.
Gary, the school’s maintenance man, said a great prayer of thanks. All
appreciated his humble message even if the message on his t-shirt read, “I am a
good example of a bad example.”
Immediately following the prayer two Elder women stood to
address the crowd with a handful of notes. The women took turns reading from
each paper the dedication of people’s first “Catch”. In Bush Alaska you don’t
kill a Caribou, you catch one. You don’t trap a lynx, you catch one. You don’t
shoot a goose, you catch one. And when you do get your first “Catch” a family
member is supposed to prepare a dish in your honor to be served at the Village
Thanksgiving feast. So, it went something like this… “In Honor of Andrew Jacob
Baldwin’s first catch of a caribou, his sister has prepared a caribou soup to
be shared with Elders. We are proud of you, Andrew.” The crowd claps and the
hunter smiles. The dish of honor is even specified to whom it is supposed to be
shared. Some dishes are for everyone; some are for family members only; and some
for elders. The servers were responsible for keeping track of that.
There’s the other interesting thing about the meal. I sat at
my seat, talked with the folks at my table, hugged and high fived the students
that came by to visit and then the food just came to me. The Youth Leaders from
the High School and a few other helpful adults made the rounds and dished out
portions – most of the time they give you a brief explanation of the dish and
asked if you’d like some. Sometimes though, I had no choice. Grub was being
slopped on my plate whether I liked it or not.
I sat with Jon, another first –timer from the Outside. What
surprised me though was that only about half of the teaching staff showed up to
the feast. Apparently the volume of native food and the expectation that you’ll
eat it is too much for some of our staff. I was looking forward to the
challenge and am glad that I did.
My Thanksgiving Meal consisted of: Chicken Stew, Caribou Rib
Soup, two kinds of Muktuk (Bowhead Whale meat) one boiled and one raw/fermented
in seal oil, beluga (Raw), Aivik (Walrus), a caribou & rice dish, and
Eskimo Ice Cream.
I took the chicken stew – not because I wanted it but
because it was the first thing that was offered. They filled my bowl and I
wolfed it down. It had some delicious dumplings in it – if I had known that I might
have asked for a bigger scoop.
The Caribou Rib Soup was by far my favorite on the night.
The meat was tender. The rice and potatoes we perfectly cooked. The soup was
seasoned with enough kick to enhance the flavor but not so much as to overpower
the delicious caribou meat. I wished I had saved some for a later course
because the rest of my meal wasn’t as easy to swallow.
The 2 pieces of cooked bowhead whale were actually pretty
good. The dark meat was tender enough to chew and the fat gave the bite enough
flavor to make it enjoyable. I cannot say the same for the fermented, raw
slivers of bowhead that were piled on my plate without a chance to deflect. Jon
actually preferred the raw whale. Whereas, I was able to chew it, swallow it
and keep it down but let’s just say that after 3 pieces I was looking for a way
to pawn it off on Sattu, the only school boy that sat with us.
The hunk of Walrus that I got had a big piece of fat on one
side and a sizeable chunk of roast beef like meat on the other. I’m glad Jon
dug in first because I was able to see his reaction to a mouthful of ocean
mammal fat and decide that I would take a different approach. The meat was
bearable. No, better than that. I could have made a meal out of just walrus. If
I never have raw bowhead again, I’ll be OK. So, by now you can imagine my
run-in with the 6-8 oz. of raw beluga that sat before me. Repi offered me his
knife and said that it’s easier to chew if you cut it first. “Don’t be shy. Use
your hands to hold it,” he said. Just holding it was easier said than done. The
seal oil that the Inupiat people use gives everything a sheen that makes
holding it near impossible. The seal oil also gives it that taste and smell
that makes most Gringos run. I popped in a piece and went to town.
Chewy doesn’t adequately describe the Beluga. Laffy Taffys
are chewy. Beef Jerky can be chewy. This was like gnawing on a piece of leather
that had been soaked in a bucket of olive oil in the bottom of a bait bucket
for the month of July. But I held strong. Bit, crushed, sloshed and swallowed
enough that the locals weren’t pointing and laughing. And when they weren’t
looking, I put the rest on Sattu’s plate.
The caribou and rice was decent. I prefer the soup.
I had a bad experience at C3 Camp with Eskimo Ice Cream.
When the campers collected buckets full of berries, our Inupiat hosts from
Buckland decided to treat us to Eskimo Ice Cream in August. They literally took
CRISCO (YES – Crisco!) and threw in some blueberries and whipped it around
until it made a psychedelic cup full of goo. When the desserts came around on
Thursday, I was worried about the Ice Cream.
I got 2 different scoops – a lighter concoction and a darker
one that appeared to have blackberries and aikpik (Salmonberries) in it. Sattu
said, “Try it. You’ll like it.” I told him my nightmare from this summer and he
set me at ease by saying, “You’ll like the darker one, more sugar.”
He was right the darker “Ice Cream” was better and instead
of Crisco both portions had been made with whipped caribou fat. Yep – not cold,
Bryer’s Mint Chocolate Chip but whipped caribou fat, sugar and blueberries,
salmonberries and blackberries. There’s goes the diet.
I held it all down. Felt full and was glad that I came.
Pastor Enoch gave a blessing before people filed out for the night. He invited
everyone to stay as we had visitors from the Kotzebue Drum Crew. About half the
crowd left. Most had boxes and bags filled with leftovers – I wasn’t told that
it was cool to bring in gallon Ziplocs if you found a particular dish you
liked. I would have to be happy with my two gifted boxes of Pilot Bread.
Eskimo dancing followed. Drums and mukluks, mittens and
atikluks magically appeared. Familiar faces from the village joined visitors
from Kotz. I had a front row seat and could feel the energy and the beat of the
drums. No dance lasted more than 2-3 minutes. Everyone told a story about
hunting a seal or traveling over the ice or down a river. Sometimes the group
leader talked about origins and meaning and other times they just rolled in to
the next tune. I sat in awe. Half of the crowd had left and half of the
teachers followed. I looked around about midway through the performance and
realized that Jon, Nancy, Coleen and I were the only four gringos in a gym of
dancing Eskimos on Thanksgiving above the Arctic Circle. I wish I could have
seen the smile on my face.
I thought about my wife and kids at home. I smiled on the
inside as I remembered Logan telling me earlier in the day that he was sure
they’d have leftover turkey by the time I got home in three weeks. I missed my
wife’s cooking and the comforts of my own couch, my own house, and my old
traditional ways. But this was no Typical Thanksgiving. This was my Thanksgiving
in Kivalina.
Taikuu.
